


Home Is A Name

by Leoporidae_Lagomorpha



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Coming Out, Home, Introspection, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Misgendering, Sexual Content, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 05:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5035480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leoporidae_Lagomorpha/pseuds/Leoporidae_Lagomorpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you find home and sometimes home finds you. In the case of Ruvaen Lavellan it's a bit of both.</p><p>(trans Lavellan/Iron Bull)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Is A Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bathood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bathood/gifts).



> Pretty much based off my own Inquisitor, this was supposed to be porn but then feelings happened. I hope you still like it Sal!

_"Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration."_

**-Charles Dickens**

If he's being completely honest, acceptance was the last thing Ruvaen was expecting when he first set out, some distance perhaps, the kind of cold alienation that's followed him his entire life, but acceptance? Not really.

Ruvaen Lavellan is many things, but welcome isn't usually one of them.

The orphan, burden shared among the clan, passed from fireside to fireside, never outright shunned, just another hungry mouth. Useless with a bow and untalented with magic and herbs. Always the first to question the rare merchants that passed through their camps, more ready to interact with them, the _Shems_ with their dull eyes and their strange flat tongue with its round words full of traps and hidden meanings.

He' always been an outsider, a black sheep, a warrior among hunters. Who picked up a two hander because he had something to prove, not to himself but to everyone who said he couldn't. A girl playing at being a man. Who doesn't know her place. And it's the use of _her_ that hurts the most because if anything he's always known exactly where he wants to be.

There were always the whispers, the looks that followed him silent and damning. He was odd, too eager for any information on the tedious affairs of the _Shems_ , too odd for a Dalish. So it came as a surprise when the Keeper entrusted him with a mission to spy on The Conclave. He accepted, of course, took the chance to see the world beyond the influence of his Clan without hesitation.

The first thing he did when he left was cut his hair, shaved the sides away and cropped the rest. Reddish brown locks falling silently to the ground, pooling around his feet like blood from a wound. Hair he used to wear around his shoulders, that Rhys always loved to tangle between her fingers. Rhys, who'd delighted in braiding tiny flowers into his hair.

_Rhys._

Their First, kind spirited and gentle, doe eyed and tender hearted, loved by all who met her. Rhys, sweet beautiful Rhys with her fluttering laugh and her smile like spring sunlight melting snow. Rhys, who had opened her arms and her heart. _Rhys, who loves him._

He could have loved her back.

When he cut his hair, he left her behind. He cut away the memory of her fingers in his hair, of her dimples and the way she said _you're beautiful, Rue_ like she meant it.

He'd regret it perhaps, if the past was not the past, but he is not Rue and Rhys is not- _was never his_. So he leaves her behind like the clan that never really understood and sets out on a mission that takes him farther than he ever imagined he'd ever go on his own.

The Inquisition rises.

First from the ashes of the tragedy at The Conclave and again from the ruins of Haven like a Phoenix, blazing brightly and igniting sparks all throughout Thedas. And by something akin to a miracle he finds himself at the helm of this newly minted force. He finds himself pulled into its folds, dragging the others he meets along the way into his inner circle and he stops sometimes to wonder if this is what it is to have a clan of his own.

They all want to be here, that much is indisputable, but he'd still had doubts, the kind that are ingrained in his existence. Would they scoff behind his back or observe him like the oddity he is? He finds himself caring about what they think because they matter to him, his friends, his battle companions, his clan. And over time it becomes common knowledge amongst the inner circle and his advisors.

They'd all reacted differently, Cassandra had apologized for addressing him incorrectly when he'd still been her prisoner, had cornered him and spoken in that awkwardly blunt yet incredibly earnest way of hers and said:

"I would like to apologize, for the way I addressed you. I had-I never...I made assumptions and I was wrong and I am sorry...you did not deserve that." Her words were stilted, uncertainty lacing her tone but determination burning in her eyes.

He'd reassured her gently with a pat on the shoulder and a smile. She'd folded under his forgiveness gracefully.

"Thank you...I have not been fair to you and I am undeserving of such forgiveness."

"You only did what you thought was right."

"Yes, but _I was wrong_." And he'd caught a hint of steel in her words, that brutal need to meet the insane expectation she held herself to.

"And you made amends, there's nothing wrong with that." He'd countered.

She'd made a little noise in the back of her throat, the one she often made when a point was beyond arguing and she had to hold herself back from replying.

After that most confrontations were mostly non-events. Correcting Josephine the first time she called him Lady Herald, she'd nodded and given him a smile and that was the end of that. Having to watch Cullen fumble awkwardly with their first two conversations before finally getting over himself and acting like a Commander instead of a fool. A knowing glance from Leliana, a reassuring pat from Varric, some advice about discreet tailoring from Vivienne, a ' _guys are pretty eeeurrgh but you're okay_ ' from Sera, a bottle of wine and an exchange of stories with Dorian, a history lesson from Solas which in essence was nearly any conversation with Solas, a few awkward questions from Blackwall and later a small carving of a griffon and a few overly blunt inquiries that he couldn't really begrudge from Cole.

But among them Bull had stood out, what with the presence of Krem in his company there was no logical way that he'd react negatively and yet when he'd told Krem ' _you are a real man_ ', Ruvaen had nearly burst into tears. Because it wasn't just a placating comment, or some kind of exception, a shallow kindness, it was an honest belief, what he hadn't known he'd been waiting his whole life to hear and Ruvaen had lifted his cup and raised a toast 't _o real men_ ' and Bull had caught his eye from the corner of his vision and the qunari smiled, all teeth and slapped him hard on the back launching the Chargers into a rousing and more than a little off key rendition of their trademark song.

Iron Bull. Correction. _The_ Iron Bull.

There was something about the warrior that he'd been drawn to, a great many things in fact from his pointed horns and his bulging muscles and towering height, the way he made himself out as some kind of simple minded barbarian brute when his good eye was always alight, sharp and bright picking up on the smallest details, gathering information, stripping people of their secrets with a glance. But beyond all that he was a good man, kind in his intentions, brutal, bloodthirsty and deceptively intelligent, deceptively perceptive, deceptively tender at times.

Because he can be rough, can pin Ruvaen against the cold stone of the nearest wall and kiss the breath out of his lungs. Bull can tie him to the headboard, draw sounds from him that he never knew he could produce, make pain and pleasure blur together in a way that set his nerves on fire. He can fuck him hard and thorough, leave him raw, bruised and feeling the pleasant ache of his limbs the next day or so.

Bull can be hard unrelenting heat, hands holding his legs open, taking him apart with his tongue. He is solid and real and warm and when Ruvaen is drowning, mindless with pleasure, his thighs wet with a mix of sweat and his own slick, taut and aching. Bull can be gentle control, firm lips kissing away tears and he can be the soft whispers against his fevered skin.

_You're safe here, kadan. I got you._

Bull is large deft fingers on large calloused hands, a warriors' hands, a roaring laugh, lips that kiss like worship, tenderness, love and affection. Everything he's ever wanted and exactly what he needs.

Skyhold is home, but it isn't _Home_.

Because _Home_ is many things, you see, _Home_ is a cup of Cassandra's favourite tea, the shelf Varric's appropriated to store his novels in the library, the musky smell of Dorian's cologne, Josephine's imported ink, Sera's mischievous cackle at a prank gone right, Cullen's sword, Blackwall's carvings, the squawk of Leliana's ravens, Vivienne's painted nails, Solas' voice when he tells stories of his adventures in the Fade, every unexplained occurrence that translates as Cole's kindness and the grin on Bull's face when he throws recruits around the training ring. Home is the way Bull roars into battle with his sword hefted above his head, it's a sharp blade, a warm fire, the pleasure Ruvaen gets from a good fight. It's being anywhere in the world and wrapping a memory 'round you like a blanket and feeling _right_. It's something invisible you carry on your back and it grows, and it takes time like a seed sleeping under the snow. It works its way out of the earth, a fragile sprout, still so new fresh and green and easy to overlook and you don't notice till it blooms, all bright coloured petals and sweet smelling perfume. It's the way Bull fucks him so hard his knees rub raw on the carpet, it's drinks and songs and dragon's teeth and it's beautiful and it's _his_.

Home is everything you love and everything you are. Home is the other half of his heart, _his kadan._

**Author's Note:**

> My first DA fic. this was fun to write, I'm probably gonna write some plotless porn another time because I thirst for trans Lavellan getting fucked by The Iron Bull.


End file.
